oh grumbledy old lady grumbling more

Ok. Ok. Admit! <a href="http://jezebel.com/gossip/hells-bells/does-getting-married-turn-you-into-a-selfish-bitch-300559.php ">I spend. Less time. With my friends. Than I did when. I was not married.</a>  Even if you are the most friend-seeing person in the whole world, this will happen because um, there is a certain amount of time you have?  to spend? on anything? and so when you are spending time on married stuff...? I guess you could spend time with your marriageperson and your friends together a lot, but then you do not have refuge from anything, and plus what if he is a grump and you are the only person he likes in the universe?

Anyway, though, I am probably the classic got-in-serious-relationship-checked-out-of-social-liffesors case. I mean, the people I no longer see, I count in the thousands.  Like around the third or fourth thousand.  AND THIS IS BECAUSE WHAT A LOT MY FRIENDS LIKED TO DO WAS ONLY GO AND MAKE OUT WITH PEOPLE.  And as much fun as it is to sit around and watch people decide who to make out with, I mean, a) it is called "wingman" and not "main interesting role" for a reason, yes? and b) as pure as me and my intentions are, it is not like, an A+ for the dynamic of a marriage which prioritizes the sessual fidelity for one partner to be existing in large part in a big cashze -sex soup. 

So basically, if I had not had so many sexy friends, I would not have been out there in the same way and probs would not have met and married Haz(z)ard, but then once I did, I could not be useful to my sexy friends or have a lot of fun stuff to do with them.

Epistles at dawn

Dear Violet,

totally possible this is just a manic episode, but I think I'm ready to be a famous blogger.

How's that sound?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Lunch

I lost that last post once and then rewrote a bunch of it, but it ended up being about how lazy I am.

And here I am, writing a whole new post.

But a short one.

Funny How.

Everything that rises must converge

This is where I try kind of a novel thing and link to a blog that I actually read all the time. This probably says a little too much about me and exposes the extent of my intellectual adventures of the past several years. Come to think of it, maybe I've linked to him before, but I'm not about to go back and look it up. What do you think I am, some kind of "blogger"?

So here's what I'm trying to say: the other day, Apartment 3-G featured a character named Gary Walker. "Gary Walker!" I exclaim inwardly, "He's the second Walker brother!" (I can't name the third and again, I am ergonomically opposed to looking up this information)

So What? you say. SO: Gary Walker sings a great song about masturbation, called "Magazine Woman"... and here he is, not singing Magazine Woman:

Basically, I'm the laziest blogger in the world.

Songs you won't hear on television

Snappy Something-day, Violent Beekeeper.

smashmession

So, on acounna whatever combination of genetics and singular touchiness and being a special delicate flower in this wintry world, I shlep around a diagnosis of depression, now very very much in remission or hey, you know what, CURED now with the help of the things that help that sort of thing.   Anyway, as anyone who is or considers themselves* to be or would like to be depressed knows, people like to talk about their depression in humanland and on the internet.  I know!  Me too!  They like to pick it up and examine it and compare it to yours and reflect with you and create their narrative.

I am making a conscious decision to cut that out right here and now, and to not engage in conversations or read writings on it.  You know why?  It's depressing!  Not just in the sense of  reading about downers is a downer, no, there is something about the rhythm of the language and the reaching and the searching that mimics the dark waves of the feeling itself.  And then you are kind of diluted and you are like, I recognize this dilution... could it be...?  Is it...?  Bc you have just been reading about depression, so you know, you are predisposed to blame things on it.  And then you get worried that you're getting depressed, and none of it would have happened if people kept that crap off their blogs!

Despite everything I know about teh neurochem, the old complaint about depressives being self-indulgent kind of resonates with me. But like, what are you going to do, not indulge your brain? 

*I am so so fine with using they as a singular pronoun.  Stuff it, perscriptivists!

Performing a public service

I forwarded this for a friend; I hope everyone enjoys and learns from it.